


Last Night at the Zooniverse

by A_Little_Boosh_Maid



Series: Zooniverse Nights [6]
Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Idiots in Love, M/M, Male Slash, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 01, Romance, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 02:11:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15876333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/pseuds/A_Little_Boosh_Maid
Summary: In which Howard and Vince say goodbye to the Zooniverse, and it's all very sad.





	Last Night at the Zooniverse

**Author's Note:**

> This story serves as a conclusion, not just to this particular series, but also to the previous series, "Entering the First Days of Howince". In particular, it elucidates one or two mysteries about Howard mentioned in "Satsumas Are Not the Only Fruit" and we learn a bit more about the enigmatic Junior Explorers from "Of Men and Muses".

Howard walked around the zookeeper's hut, trying to find somewhere to put his trumpet case where it wouldn't get damaged or forgotten. Everything had been packed up in boxes and suitcases, and the hut felt both barren and claustrophobic, the way things are just before you move. He put his trumpet case on top of the boxes that held his jazz record collection, and hoped for the best.

The Zooniverse had finally gone under financially and been sold to a property developer, with all the animals dispersed to other zoos around the world. Howard and Vince had been in charge of that: it had hurt to say goodbye, and they felt cruel to be breaking up so many friendships, because not everyone could be kept together. Other zoos didn't understand that the penguins and the llamas had been very attached to one another, and without the penguins, Howard wasn't sure the llamas would ever settle in anywhere.

The door opened, slowly and carefully because there were things standing in front of it, and then Vince edged his way in, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. His face was pale and strained, and Howard saw with a pang that he was taking it very hard. They had both had so much to do in the past few months that neither of them had had a chance to really talk about what was happening, or consider their own feelings. Now it was finished, suddenly everything hit them in the chest as if they had been run over.

"Alright, Howard?", said Vince in a voice Howard had never heard him use before.

"Not really", said Howard honestly. "It's pretty awful at the moment, Vince, but we'll get through it together".

"Yeah", Vince said with the ghost of a smile. "At least we're not homeless or nothing; Naboo said we can doss down in his spare room if we don't mind sharing".

"We should be used to that by now", Howard said, trying to sound brave and practical.

"He's being really nice about it actually – didn't even mention that means he'll have to share his room with Bollo, who he's taken on as his familiar".

"Yeah, how does that work exactly?", Howard asked with a quizzical expression. "Bollo died".

"So did you", Vince pointed out. "But I got you back. Looks like half of everyone at the flat will be ex-dead".

"Sounds like the crappiest horror movie ever made", said Howard, trying to make a lame joke.

Vince knew he should smile at it, but he couldn't. He was too wound up. He had been rehearsing what he was going to say to Howard again and again, and each time it sounded more fake and unbelievable than the last.

Showtime, he told himself. Come on Vince, give it your best shot.

"Oh yeah that reminds me", he said with a pretence of elaborate unconcern. "Naboo gave us this as a goodbye present".

He took out a bottle he had been holding in his pocket.

"But ... we're going to be living with him", said Howard in confusion. "We're not saying goodbye to Naboo".

"Housewarming gift then", said Vince in annoyance; he was annoyed at himself for getting it wrong right from the start.

"Well that's very kind", said Howard warily. "Uh, what is it?".

"It's a ... sort of magic potion", said Vince, his voice cracking unexpectedly. He steadied himself and went on.

"You drink it, and for fifteen minutes you can do or say anything you want to the person you're with, as long as you're alone with them, and once the fifteen minutes is over, neither of you will remember anything about it – you can just go back to your normal lives like nothing ever happened".

Vince finished in a rush: it was just like the rehearsals, it had sounded weak and unconvincing even to his own ears.

Howard frowned; Vince was glad to see it wasn't an angry frown, but a puzzled one.

"But ... why would Naboo give us something like that?", he asked.

"Dunno", said Vince, who wasn't prepared for Howard to ask questions. He never knew what Howard would say half the time anyway. "Maybe he thought ... he thought it would help us in some way".

"You mean help us get over our sadness about the zoo?", asked Howard.

"Yeah maybe, I dunno really", said Vince, taking refuge in vagueness.

Howard was gazing at the bottle in a strange way. Vince didn't know what his expression meant, but that's because he'd never offered something so easily to Howard that was a real temptation before.

"And you say neither of us will remember anything afterwards?", Howard asked, keeping his voice light and casual. "Everything just goes back the way it was?".

"Uh yeah", said Vince awkwardly. "Except Naboo said sometimes people remember a little bit, but the memories fade quickly".

"And we both drink it?", said Howard in the same tone, as if he was just asking questions out of politeness.

"Yeah", said Vince, his mouth dry.

"Well you'd better hand over the bottle then", said Howard with what was probably supposed to be a chuckle.

Vince silently gave it to him. Howard almost grabbed it from his hand, and took it into the kitchenette. Vince had supposed that Howard was getting two glasses for them, but too late he realised that Howard was tipping the contents of the bottle down the sink.

Vince ran after him, just in time to see Howard running the cold tap so that the liquid swirled away down the drain. He stared in consternation, too shocked to even say anything. Out of all the possibilities he had entertained, this one had never occurred to him.

Howard turned to him, and he didn't look apologetic for what he'd done, but stern and resolute.

"If we couldn't remember it afterwards, Vince, it would be meaningless, and it wouldn't help us at all. It would be plain wrong, and I'm surprised at Naboo giving us such an unethical present – the chance to do anything we wanted with no consequences".

I should have remembered what Naboo said before, Vince told himself dully. He said you can never _say_ to people that something emotional is magic, or they won't believe in it, or something. Something about the desolate psychopathical balance of the shaman's art. _I_ don't know – all I know is I cocked this one up good and proper, and it's a criminal waste of a premixed flirtini.

Of course it's just like Howard to go all _noble_ on me, thought Vince in disgust. Of course he couldn't just drink the flirtini and snog me like any normal bloke, but then if he was any normal bloke, I wouldn't be so fucking in love with him.

His eyes prickled and stung. And to his horror, Vince realised that tears were coming out of them, in the quietly insistent way that means there's no stopping them. Vince wasn't a crier by either nature or nurture – he was meant for sunshine, and was brought up amongst animals, who have little understanding of tears. But now he was crying his heart out, giving harsh sobs that hurt his chest and throat.

It was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him – even worse than that cape and Chelsea boots combo that had got him on the front cover of _Heat_. The humiliation made him sob harder, and snot started running out of his nose. This was the uncoolest moment of Vince's life, and he covered his face with his hands as if wanting to disappear.

Then Vince felt Howard's arms around him, the other man so much bigger than him that it felt as if his whole body was wrapped in Howard. Howard was rubbing his back, and making soothing noises, and doing everything he could to comfort Vince. That made Vince cry even harder – that he could try to trick Howard, and instead of getting punished for it, he was being rewarded.

Howard held Vince tight, and pulled him down to sit next to him on the sofa, while still keeping his arms wrapped around him. He could tell that Vince would have already collapsed from grief if he wasn't holding him up.

"It's okay, little man", he said, patting Vince's hand. "I know what the problem is".

"You ... do?", hiccupped Vince in surprise.

"You're sad about leaving the zoo", Howard said gently. "So am I. And you thought that taking some magic potion would help us escape from our sadness for a few minutes. But that's not the way to do it Vince – there's nothing in a bottle that can make these feelings go away".

Vince opened his mouth, all prepared to tell Howard he'd got it completely wrong – it had nothing to do with the zoo, and in fact it was all about his feelings for Howard. He may have tried to deceive Howard, but he wasn't going to keep lying to him; he wasn't that much of a worm.

Then a wave of bleak misery washed over him, and he realised that Howard was right. He'd thought he was just desperate about losing his cosy little life with Howard, and wanted a chance to show Howard how he really felt. But he was also mourning the Zooniverse itself. 

It had not only been his and Howard's home, but a magical place filled with adventure. Vince had made so many friends while at the zoo, humans and animals and even a shaman, and maybe he didn't love them the way he did Howard, but he cared for them and would truly miss those he never saw again. And not only that – the zoo had been good for Vince: it had given him a chance to use his talents, to work at a job that made him feel of value to the world. He didn't know if he'd get that in his life a second time.

He began crying again, not sobbing any more, but an even more shameful whiny snivelling sound, hunched over himself and weeping like a child. He'd never imagined that Howard would be so kind to him if he ever cried, but apparently all the crying Howard had done himself made him very understanding of others in the same situation. That made Vince cry even more, thinking of all the times Howard had been tearful and he hadn't even given him a quick hug (although that was because he was scared that Howard would tell him not to touch him).

"That's right Vince, let it all out, just cry it out", said Howard softly, holding his arms tightly around Vince and nuzzling against him.

Vince had always wanted Howard to hold him like this, and it suddenly struck him as funny that all it took was for him to bawl his eyes out. If I'd known that, I would have been having a crying fit every couple of days, he thought . He gave a sodden gurgle of a laugh, then thought maybe he could start getting hysterical – see what Howard thought of that. Vince giggled.

"Feeling better now?", Howard smiled, and then he stunned Vince by kissing him on the forehead.

"Yeah I am a bit, thanks", said Vince, wiping his eyes.

He kissed Howard on each cheek; they were feather-light touches, but enough for Howard to pull back from holding Vince as closely.

"You seem better", said Howard cautiously.

"I _was_ upset about the zoo, Howard, and everything", began Vince, "but I suppose what got me started was seeing you tip that fl-, that ... fluid down the sink".

"I explained how the potion was a wicked thing, Vince", said Howard, his voice sounding colder.

"It was only wicked because it was magic, and because we wouldn't remember anything afterwards", said Vince. "It wouldn't be wrong for us to just do whatever we want together for fifteen minutes, and we'd still have the memories of it. Would it, Howard?".

"I suppose not", said Howard uncertainly. "Depending on what we did, of course".

"Can I go first?", whispered Vince, and without waiting for permission, he nimbled himself onto Howard's lap and snuggled into Howard's chest.

"Er, and this is what you really want?", asked Howard, sounding slightly dazed.

"Yes", said Vince firmly. He put his arms around Howard's neck, and pressed his face into the base of his throat. He felt as if he could never get enough of Howard's indefinable spicy Christmas morning smell; he just wanted to breathe it in forever. Vince gave a happy sigh.

Vince could have kept on enjoying it for longer, but of course he got greedy, and began kissing Howard on his stubbled throat and chin, working his way up towards his mouth, where he planned to give him the snogging of a lifetime. Vince could almost taste Howard, and his own lips were tingling in anticipation. He had never wanted anything in his life so much as to kiss Howard.

Howard suddenly sat up much straighter, and used his long arms to hold Vince away from himself.

"Come on Vince", Howard said, his voice filled with tension. "I don't know what kind of of person you think I am, but I'm not going to take advantage of a friend who's in an emotional state".

"But I _want_ you to take advantage of me!", cried Vince in frustration. "I mean, you wouldn't be taking advantage of me; this is what I want".

"Five minutes ago you were crying your eyes out", said Howard implacably. "This is just a reaction to extreme emotion: it's completely normal and nothing to be ashamed of. We learned about it in the Junior Explorers - how people can make rash decisions they could regret later because they're very frightened or very upset in stressful situations, and it's the team leader's responsibility to make sure they don't act on them".

"Fuck the bloody Junior Explorers!", shouted Vince. "I'm sick to fucking death of hearing about their nutbag ideas".

"This is precisely the second time I've ever mentioned them", said Howard calmly. "Which just shows that you're not in a rational state of mind".

Vince slumped his shoulders. It's like one of those Catch Twenty-one things you hear about, he thought. Howard only cuddled me because I cried so much, but we can't move on to kissing, because I cried so much. I know I cocked it up somewhere, Vince thought, but for the life of me I can't think where.

"Okay then", he said flatly, still not getting off Howard's lap. "It's your turn. What do you want to do with me?".

He had some faint desperate hope that perhaps Howard would force Vince onto his knees and make him service him or something. Because frankly the strong assertive team leader thing Howard was doing thanks to his Junior Explorer training was a real turn on, and Vince thought if Howard kept it up, he would soon be loonier about him than ever.

Instead Howard slowly raised his hands, and held Vince's face in them, gazing into his eyes. Vince thought how weird it was that Howard wasn't acting shifty, but looking straight at him with an almost awed expression. It was making Vince feel suddenly nervous.

And then he did something which shocked Vince horribly – much more than if Howard had forced him into a kneeling position. Howard touched his hair. He did more than touch it; he ran his fingers through it, and twisted the hair into little lovelocks, and fluffed it up, and even pulled on it gently.

"What are you doing with my hair?", said Vince crossly, getting up off Howard's lap. "You're making a mess of it, and all my hairdressing stuff is packed – I can't even fix this now!".

He strode over to the empty wardrobe to check the damage in the mirror. His hair was in a frightful state – standing up here and there, quite disarranged, and Vince was sure he was going to end up with split ends now.

"You've completely ruined my look", Vince said accusingly, trying to pat his hair back into place. "I can't believe you could do anything at all with me, and _this_ is what you decided on!".

Howard didn't say anything, but looked as if he was both irritated and amused by the outcome of his actions.

Vince turned and faced him.

"Why did you do that, Howard? Why did you mess up my hair?".

"It looked too perfect", said Howard. "You always look so perfect, Vince, and it hurts me inside".

"It _hurts_ you?", Vince said in a rage. "Get stuffed, where do you get off telling me I'm too perfect? What does that even mean?".

"Too perfect for me", said Howard.

"You mean I'm too perfect to suit your personal tastes", said Vince frigidly.

"No, I meant you're too perfect for someone like me".

"Oh I get it", said Vince nastily. "You mean I'm too vain and shallow for someone as deep and intellectual as you. I suppose you think I should go around looking like a scruffy old tramp, wearing a lumpy woollen jumper the colour of spew, just so I don't make you _feel_ bad".

Howard's face drained of all emotion to the point that it didn't look like Howard any more; it was like he had simply packed his face away with his trumpet and his jazz records. But all he said was, "No, that isn't what I meant at all". He spoke slowly and carefully, as if Vince was a dangerous madman who had approached him on the street, ranting about the end times and waving a knife.

Vince didn't know why he'd been so mean and rude to Howard. But he wasn't going to apologise. The more he thought about it, the more appalling Howard's behaviour had been tonight.

Howard had thrown Vince's gift of a flirtini down the sink, and said that he had behaved wickedly, and made Vince cry worse than he ever had in his life, and patronised him in his humiliation by treating him like a baby, and made him feel miserable about leaving the zoo, and refused to snog him, and invented some ridiculous excuse why they couldn't snog, and _then_ he had messed up Vince's hair and made him look like a scrawny ugly little scarecrow, and then he had the nerve to attack Vince and insult him and say that he just wasn't _good_ enough for Howard the great and mighty.

Surely Howard's crimes were terrible. But Vince wasn't going to throw them in Howard's face (his non-face) either. It was pointless to keep discussing things.

"Forget it", said Vince shortly, and began stalking around the hut as if looking for someone else to talk to, even though there was still only Howard, no matter which direction he went.

"You know Vince, when people are under a lot of strain, they can often say things they don't really mean", said Howard, still speaking slowly and carefully.

"Learn that from the Junior Explorers as well, did you?", said Vince sullenly. "Clever bunch, weren't they?".

"We don't have to turn on each other", said Howard. "I know this is a bad situation, but it could be a lot worse. We're still together, and we'll have a roof over our heads, and we'll be with friends. And now we can really concentrate on our music career – get some material together, play some gigs, possibly even get a recording contract".

Vince continued prowling around the hut, but he thought Howard made a good point. He had only thought about the things he had lost with the zoo, and not given a thought to what he still had, or what he might potentially gain. Perhaps there was still magic in the world, there might be other adventures to be had, and new friends to be made. He might turn out to have more talents, or be good at some other job.

Vince didn't say anything, but he changed the pace of his walking and was no longer pointedly looking in the opposite direction, which Howard took as a sign he might be listening.

Vince started looking through boxes, as if in search of something that might fix his hair up. Of course he hadn't labelled any of his belongings – everything was stuffed in any old where, in such a random selection that any label would have been useless.

He looked over at Howard's luggage, where every box was clearly marked, and Vince knew it was all neatly and efficiently packed inside. No doubt the result of careful training by the Junior Explorers, who Vince had decided were the most insufferable bunch of twats ever to walk the earth. Howard might have been almost bearable without their influence. He refused to admit that their main offence was apparently stopping him from getting a snog from Howard.

Vince's eye was caught by one small box amongst Howard's possessions which didn't have a label – the only one to suffer such a lack.

"What's this box of yours?", he asked Howard curiously.

It didn't have anything to do with what they'd been talking about, but Howard was glad that at least Vince was speaking to him in a normal tone of voice, and no longer seemed to be in a perplexing cold fury with him.

"Just a few little knick-knacks and mementos", Howard said vaguely. "It's nothing really".

Vince opened the box. He knew he was violating Howard's privacy, but his hair had been violated, and Howard was right there, and said it was nothing anyway. So it wouldn't hurt to look.

Vince lifted out a sealed envelope that had a citrusy smell to it, and rattled when he shook it. He held it up to Howard for identification.

"Oh, that's the dried peel from our first satsuma fight", said Howard, looking a bit embarrassed.

"Why did you keep that?", Vince asked. "I mean the first fight wasn't even that great. The second one was much better; you know, where you got me pinned down on the bed, and used a satsuma to -".

He broke off, realising he was sounding far too enthused for someone who had been treated so appallingly.

"Yeah that one was good", said Howard fondly. "And I never let your bruises go untreated, do I, Vince?".

"Nah, you've got healing hands", allowed Vince. Vince hoped that wasn't something else Howard had learned from the Junior Explorers, or he would never be able to enjoy having lotion rubbed into his bruises again.

Vince next brought out an orange feather from the Zooniverse's parrot enclosure. It looked familiar.

"Oh yeah, I used to have one of these too", he recalled. How funny that Howard had kept his. Some superstition or other attached to it; he couldn't really remember it now. Probably a pile of crap anyway.

A child's illustrated edition of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. A battered copy of _Wuthering Heights_. Why weren't these packed with Howard's books?

"A ticket from St. Malo to Portsmouth", Vince identified. "Why did you keep this? We didn't have a good time, and I got sick on the ferry".

He held up an old cricket ball. "And this?".

"We hit the ball into the woods one day at school, and went to look for it, do you remember?", said Howard. "But we ended up walking in the woods, and later I went back and found the ball".

Vince didn't remember.

"And what happened in the woods?".

"Nothing", said Howard.

It was all completely mental, Vince thought. Just bits of junk – shells and stones and sprigs of rosemary. A Strawberry Bootlace – Howard didn't even eat those. A funny little cartoon he must have done in class one day and given to Howard: it wasn't very good, he could draw much better now. A Danish arthouse film. A key to something or other. What was the purpose of this bizarre collection?

At the bottom of the box was a piece of paper, folded over. Vince unfolded it, and after a moment realised it was a poem that Howard must have written. Vince didn't know much about poetry and he couldn't really follow it, but even he could tell it was a love poem.

He struggled to understand it. He'd never been very good at poetry in English Literature at school and had relied on Howard to help him and fix up his spelling mistakes. Vince had preferred Biology – you know where you are with newts, but poems twist themselves around to mean all different things, and even lie.

Vince didn't know who the poem was about; all he could gather was that the person was extremely beautiful. That surprised him: he'd always thought Howard would prefer a plain sensible sort of girl with nice eyes. But then, maybe when you're in love, plain girls with nice eyes _seem_ beautiful, who knows? That's what he meant about poems twisting around and lying.

And now he kept reading, he wasn't sure it _was_ about a girl. Being so beautiful sounded like a woman, but other parts of the poem made it sound as if Howard was talking about a man. If it was a woman, she must be quite dashing and masculine, but if it was a man, he must be quite seductive and feminine. It was dead confusing.

Vince realised he didn't even know if Howard preferred women or men. He seemed to pursue women, not with any success, but then he seemed to like being pursued by men, perhaps with slightly more success. What little sexual experience Howard had seemed to be with men, and the two of them had messed around a bit, but Howard always acted as if Vince was almost forcing that on him.

And how weird poetry was – this business about 'icy hyacinth pools', for example. Hyacinths don't grow in ponds, Howard should know that, and ice doesn't help any flower thrive.

"It's very good", said Vince politely. He didn't really know if it was any good, but Howard wrote genius song lyrics, and his poetry was probably good as well.

"Thanks", said Howard, giving nothing away in tone or expression.

"Was it someone you were in love with?", asked Vince.

"No, someone I still am in love with", said Howard.

Vince couldn't read poems, but he could read Howard's face, and he could tell that whoever this person was, they had proper messed Howard up. He hated them for that – the bitch, the bastard.

"Why aren't you with them, then?", asked Vince.

"Because I'm not good enough for them – they deserve something better, and I couldn't make them happy. Not in the long run".

If they hadn't already had such a bad fight, Vince would have argued with this, because it sounded like an excuse to him. Howard had such a fixation on his muses being cold and unattainable, and Vince was pretty sure that Howard was mostly just frightened to get close to someone – he would think it more romantic to distance himself and languish alone. The stupid berk.

And then it hit Vince like a poleaxe. He'd been making a fool of himself, pining after Howard and acting like a kid all starry-eyed over the captain of the football team. Howard might pet and cuddle him when he cried, and he might love Vince dearly as a friend, but he would never be _in_ love with him. He was in love with this other person.

Vince knew he had to stop telling himself a fairy tale where the princess got her prince by looking pretty and waiting patiently. It was time for him to grow up. He would always love Howard, and he would always want him, but he was going to stop chasing after him, and he was never, _never_ going to cry over him again. Ever.

Howard could tell that something had changed for Vince after reading the poem. He must have understood it, and agreed with Howard: they could never be together, and Vince deserved better. He seemed unhappy, but also as if he had made his mind up about something. Howard had the strangest feeling that Vince had given him one reproachful look over his shoulder, and then quietly walked through a door, closing it in Howard's face.

"Anyway, we should go to bed", said Howard practically. "We're both tired, and we've got an early start tomorrow".

Vince agreed lethargically. They both undressed and got into bed – they had kept their beds pushed together ever since Vince had convinced Howard it was a good idea and wouldn't make any difference to what people thought. They had both liked sleeping right next to each other, but now it felt awkward, although it would have been even worse if they moved their beds apart on their final night together in the hut.

Vince and Howard lay next to each other in the dark. Neither of them had spoken, not even to say goodnight. Howard had some experience of Vince's bedtime silences, and this didn't feel like anything he had ever encountered before.

"Is something wrong, Vince?", he asked tentatively.

"We're all alone", came the muffled reply.

"What?".

"At the zoo – we're the only ones here now", Vince said.

"Vince, we've been alone at the zoo every night", Howard pointed out gently. "It was just us once everyone else went home".

"No, I mean we're _really_ all alone", said Vince dolefully. "We could always hear the animals at night, and we could smell them, and I could ... feel them, or I just knew they were there. I don't know if I can sleep without having them here".

"I know what you mean", said Howard. "The zoo does feel very empty now. In fact, it isn't a zoo any more: just an empty space with a little hut in it, and then there's us in the hut".

"It makes me feel very lonely", said Vince in a small voice.

"I'm here", said Howard softly. "You're not alone; you've still got me".

Vince didn't say anything, and Howard wondered if Vince considered that a comforting thought.

"Come here", said Howard, stretching out towards Vince. He pulled himself over to the farthest edge of the bed so that he could hold Vince, and wrapped his arms around him.

"Aren't you uncomfortable, sleeping like that?", Vince asked. "You don't have a mattress under you properly, and most of the covers are over me".

"Don't worry about me", said Howard. "Just snuggle up and go to sleep, Vince".

Vince slid into Howard's arms and put his head against his chest. He did worry about Howard, a bit, but on the other hand, it felt so good being wrapped in a warm blanket of Howard that he didn't worry about him too much. He suspected this was more of Howard's training with the Junior Explorers – that the leader would always sacrifice himself to protect the rest of the team. Possibly he owed the Junior Explorers something of an apology.

Vince could feel that Howard was touching his hair again, just gently stroking it back from his face and down the nape of his neck. His hair would look a disaster by tomorrow, but perhaps he could make a feature of it. The scarecrow look might come back in, or maybe he could find a tin man and a lion, and skip arm in arm with them down a yellow brick road with a little girl and her dog. Anything seemed possible when Howard was holding you.

Howard ran his hands down Vince's back and hips. Vince wondered if Howard was feeling up his arse. It definitely felt like it. Maybe this was another technique taught by the Junior Explorers: Vince had always thought they seemed like a bunch of perverts. Maybe Howard thought that holding someone's bum would help them settle down and sleep better. If so, he was right. Vince felt more relaxed already.

Vince was aware that his behaviour was not quite consistent with his vow to start growing up and forging a life apart from Howard. But his tough new independent life could start tomorrow. Right now he had a night of smelling Howard's indefinable spicy scent to look forward to, telling him that wonderful things were ahead. He pressed his nose into the base of Howard's throat, and breathed in deeply, before falling headfirst into the best sleep of his life.

It began to rain, drops of water falling on the roof of the hut, and against the window. Howard pulled the blankets more securely over Vince, wanting to shelter him further from the elements. The rain continued steadily all night, as if the heavens themselves were trying to erase any sign that the Zooniverse had ever existed.

********************

In all, Howard and Vince spent one thousand and one nights together at the Zooniverse – because from time immemorial it has been decided that is the most romantic number of nights to spend together in fiction.

For Vince, the nights mostly blurred together, with just a few incidents sticking in his memory. The night of their second satsuma fight, which really had been extraordinary. The night they went on watch duty in the Moonlight Room. The night they broke the bed. The night they made soup. The night Howard told Vince he wanted him for his musical partner, and said they would be together forever.

But for Howard, each individual night was clear and distinct in his mind, every detail able to be recalled perfectly even many years from this day. Once he set his heart on something, he could never forget it, never let it go.

That was part of his problem, really.

**Author's Note:**

> Vince and Howard's story continues in "Married on the Morrow", which is a sequel to this series, as well as an unofficial sequel to the TV show.


End file.
